


Lie Another Day

by TheTimelessChild0



Series: Omovember 2020 [14]
Category: James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Desperation, Dressing Room, Embarrassment, Fluff, Omovember 2020, Urination, Wetting, Young James Bond, omovember 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/TheTimelessChild0
Summary: There are white lies, and then there are therightlies. Guess which one he just told.
Series: Omovember 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987816
Kudos: 4





	Lie Another Day

He’d begged his parents not to take him there. He already hated the way his uniform itched at his shoulders and pinched his...pecker. Then there was that time his mum had come to into the boys’ locker room to put cream on his rash. He hadn’t minded at first. Then they laughed at him. He had to trip one bloke and noogie the other, getting him suspended for the next three days. He was 11. He was mature, respectful and reserved. He was  _ not  _ a puppet for his papa. 

“I’ve already told you, my old uniform fits fine,” James whined.

“For the next month,  _ sure _ . I need this to last a year, I’m not taking you shopping again, certainly not with only your mother present,” his father noted.

“I heard that, Andrew,” the woman in question reminded the gentlemen.

“Mum, I really need to go. Like, seriously,  _ now _ ,” 

“Not now, James,” she dismissed his concerns. Suspecting fairly correctly that he was trying to get out of shopping. Slightly incorrectly, in the sense that the boy really _did_ need to use the facilities, just not quite so insistently.

He was shoved into a changing room and forced to try on several flannel shirts, shorts of varying length,  _ all within school regulations _ , of course; and trousers for the winter.

His movements became more methodical as his swishing from side to side in the mirror, became almost a ballet performance.

“Mum,” he tried not to blush as he summoned his mother. “I need my clothes back, please,” 

“What for?” Mrs Bond wondered.

“Oh, he’s just stalling, M, honestly” Mr Bond was annoyed now. “Get on with it, Jiminy Cricket. We don’t have all day,”

The boy could not help but agree with his father. Haste was indeed in order.

He began squirming in and out of trousers. One particular pair had him bending over, legs crossed like a snake.

The floor below was slippery though, so James promptly slipped. When he stood up, he saw small puddles next to his feet. He had leaked when he fell. Quite considerably, in fact.

That’s when he realised he was currently weeing himself. His hands waved about anxiously, as he wondered what to do. One thing he did not, was try to stop it. It was futile and unhealthy. Even the strongest body has its limit. 

He knew he had to keep the floor moderately clean, so decided to sacrifice more of his clothes. They would end up paying for the soiled garments anyway, so he tried to remember the least worst thing he’d tried on, and stuffed said shirt in his crotch. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out as he concentrated on the relief. Silver linings and all that.

“James? James?” his mother called, eventually giving up and dragging the curtain away. In front of her was her son, soaked and sobbing but silent.

“I’d really like to get my clothes back now,” he remarked.

“Oh...James. Why did you wait so long?” Monique asked him, stroking his back, while beckoning her husband discreetly.

“I didn’t mum, I swear,” James defended.

“Now now, James remember what I taught you. Cry on the inside, still visible on the outside,” Andrew recited.

They paid for the clothes and left the shop to clean up their primary school graduate.

Mr Bond dug his nails into his son’s shoulder. 

“How many times have I told you, to  _ speak up _ when you need the toilet? Everyone needs it, everyone will understand,” his father lectured.

Mrs Bond came to the rescue. “Don’t hurt him, Drew, Darling. He did try to tell me, but I wasn’t listening. It’s my fault,” she conceded.

The blush returned on the face of Mr Bond the younger. “It’s alright mum. It was a bit mine too. I was exaggerating at first,” he didn’t blame them for dismissing his request during the circumstances.

“It was an accident, James. No one’s to blame,” she soothed her son’s shame.

“And you’ve learned a very important lesson. How to stretch the truth,” his father complimented. “The truth is fickle. Bending it is sometimes justified, in a moment of great need. With _certain_ exceptions, of course,” he explained, smirking. His son managed to laugh at himself.

“Don’t give him these kinds of ideas,” Monique chastised.

“Don’t worry, mum. I’ll only lie when someone points a gun at me,” James promised easily.  _ It would be ages before that happened _ ....

Mr Bond looked through the clothes selected by his son’s bladder. He realised that one of the items that had gotten wet was not worn, when he left the dressing room.

“Hang on...you weren’t wearing this shirt. How did  _ that  _ get wet?” he asked his son, tremendously befuddled.

“I wanted to save the floor,” James stated.

“And so you made good use of what was available. Pragmatism. Why, you’ll make a  _ fine _ spy someday, sonny,” his father boasted, to his mother’s firm disapproval.

“ _ Andrew!  _ ”

The End.


End file.
